


Sinking ships

by metawohoo



Series: Slovenly lackadaisical cynic [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, F/M, Relationship(s), Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metawohoo/pseuds/metawohoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They say ships sink, criminals devolve, buildings deteriorate, healths decline, and people worsen. In Gotham, where the mobsters are kings and the word of the law comes second to the word of Carmine Falcone, it just so happens that people can sink too."</p><p>A stab at imagining Harvey and Fish's past relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinking ships

**Author's Note:**

> So I've seen episode 13 and instead of waiting for the show to give explanations and more background about Bullock, I wrote my own, because I'm not a patient person.

# Sinking ships

 

They say ships sink, criminals devolve, buildings deteriorate, healths decline, and people worsen. In Gotham, where the mobsters are kings and the word of the law comes second to the word of Carmine Falcone, it just so happens that people can sink too.

 

###

 

The first time Harvey had met Fish, it had been about some body found in the river. It was, Dix said, a suicide (it applied to both the case and the notion of questioning Falcone’s men).

Back then, Fish was still going by “Maria”, and she was only slightly crazy. Harvey wasn’t such a bad cop. If her dress had been cut just a bit higher, he might have noticed the subtle signs of her histrionic personality, the underlying anger, the hints of a dark future. But she was fit and fun and feisty and _flirting_ , so what he saw was a perfectly sane, lovely young woman dressed to kill.

He had later shared those observations with his partner, who had to be the meanest asshole the GCPD had to offer.

“You know, kid”, the man had replied, “in this town, we don’t do figures of speech. If she’s dressed to kill, she’ll be the death of you”.

 

###

 

Strange how you remembered words like that perfectly when you hung upside down from a meat hook.

 

###

 

“I’m not that convinced by the suicide thing”, Harvey had told Maria. “It’s strange enough that the guy was seen arguing with a dealer working for the family, but what made me think is the whole s _hot himself in the back of the head_ business. It’s not that I wanna accuse anyone of anything but it raises questions.”

Was it ten years before already? Eleven? No, twelve. She didn't have her club yet, just a small bar in the Theater district that saw more mobsters and prostitutes than it saw customers. Her hair was as long as she could tolerate it, meaning it brushed her shoulders when she tilted her head just so. It was insanely distracting, because her shoulders were always naked and you couldn't _touch_ them.

She knew that.

She had done the tilting thing as she replied.

“Well, Harvey - it is Harvey, right?” she had asked, because while she had a perfect memory of their first meeting, she liked to play. “It's not so unusual here in Gotham. People here are very creative, you know?”

He had lifted an eyebrow.

“Really now? Because”, he had explained as he attempted to make a gun gesture at the back of his own head, “if our victim had been any more flexible, he could have bent over and given himself anal.”

For a few seconds, she had seemed utterly shocked. Then she had started shrieking with laughter. The real deal, too, with choked breaths and teary eyes and runny make-up. It had taken her a few minutes to recover.

“You don't hold your punches, do you?” she had said afterwards. “And here I thought you were trying to be charming!”

“I _was_! You're not missish, are you?”

“I am not. I am _classy_ . And that. That was _crass_.”

It had been hard to feel concerned about the criticism, seeing how it was delivered with a poorly suppressed grin.

“If you say so, miss. Now, to get back on topic... Is there anyone you would recommend I talk to, about my case, here?”

She had patted his hand.

“Harvey, Harvey. I'm not going to say a _word_ against my family. Why, Don Falcone is a second father to me!”

“Aw, well that's too bad. Can I ask you out for a drink, though?”

He had been better looking at that age, fitter and younger, though he had never had the dashing looks of, say, Jim Gordon. Being fresh to the job helped. At that age, he still went to the gym, and even jogged when he could get out of town. He had never known if it mattered to Fish. Surely, considering the handsome boy toys she had collected over the years, she liked “dashing”, but how she balanced appearance and usefulness, total mystery.

“Well, that depends? Are we talking strictly _no_ business?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well it so happens that I own a perfectly fine establishment. Would you like to fill my coffers?”

Hell yes.

“It would be a pleasure.”

They had spent a few hours in a corner of the bar, getting drink after drink at nine dollars a pop. The flirting had been amazing, and he remembered being certain he would get sex at the end of the night. Then she had drunk him under the table.

 

###

 

It had been the year that Blondie song came out. “I've seen this thing before, in my best friend and the boy next door, fool for love and full of fire”. How she loved that song. It made her laugh and she used to say it fit _perfectly_. A great many fools agreed, and so did Harvey.

 

###

 

“How is it going with your new cop informant?” Don Falcone had asked after a long conversation about drug money and growing territory and lots of potential and how she made him proud.

She hadn't even stabbed him in the face.

“Oh, he fell for my charms, hook, line and sinker. He's such a sweet boy. I don't dislike him”, she had replied. “I just wish he had a little more intel to contribute. Still, he'll come in handy at some point, I have no doubt. And it's always good to ensure the newest recruits understand the way of things. Our men at the GCPD are bound to age and be replaced.”

Carmine had smiled, and watched her for a moment, before resuming the conversation as if she had not hinted at his own dismissal.

“He's still digging where no wise man would.”

“He will stop soon. He isn't the hero he would like to be. He has a great many weaknesses. And it takes him a great amount of energy to be good. He will tire.”

Everyone did.

 

###

 

Harvey had been stupid with lust, but not that stupid. You couldn't hang out with Maria three evenings a week and not notice the simmering rage barely held in check. Six months in, maybe seven, he could see the trauma clear as day, too. She had stories about her mother, all of them lies, all of them somehow true. He was a man who went with his gut feeling a lot, and who lacked the brains required from a detective. He had always tried to make up for that with good will and effort, for what that was worth. Still, even he could notice the differences between the many versions, and what never changed. She always died a horrible death, that woman.

Maria was more messed up than a train crash in a flaming tornado.

The worst thing was anyone could see it. The way she held herself around Falcone, the overwhelming feeling of menace... Or maybe only Harvey had been able to, because he worshipped the ground she walked on and couldn't keep his eyes off her. She had been a tease for months, though, so maybe the whole worshipping thing had been a side-effect of a major case of blue balls. He had fucked a few other girls on the side, and it hadn't worked as well as he had hoped.

What he could see, too, was that her nine dollars a pop cocktails happened to be grenadine with soda, and not champagne. She'd give a few kisses and ask twice as many questions.

He took the kisses and kept his answers.

 

###

 

Things had gone okay for a year and a half of that and then he had crippled Dix.

 

###

 

The first time they had fucked had gone poorly. Drunk-as-hell Harvey had issues with focus, and Maria had issues with acting like a compassionate human being. She'd taunt and criticize to get a rise out of you. Alcohol made Harvey feel even more shitty about _everything_ , but then again he had known that before downing a few bottles of whatever-it-had-been. The goal of drinking was to pass out as quickly as humanly possible. Why would he have expected a pity fuck after nearly two years of not getting any?

“I'm sorry”, he had said.

He didn't have the energy to grovel, and he was too pissed anyway. Maria needed the grovelling to even _consider_ accepting an apology.

“I don't care”, she had said while slipping into her dress. “You want to keep sinking lower and lower and drink yourself to death? Be my guest. You cover the rent of the bar on your own at this point.”

The funny thing was she had known what to expect about the alcohol. It was the first _real_ thing he had confided in her, how he had been drunk for two years on end, between seventeen and twenty. He had gotten his shit together for the whole cop thing, but it had been a struggle. A fat lot of good it had done everyone.

“Go to hell”, he had said, but then he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to him.

The second time they had fucked had gone better. As it turned out, she liked pain, and he needed to take his own and get it out.

 

###

 

They had done some good to each other. Mostly, they had hurt each other worse. Turns out having rage sex with the girl you had a puppy crush on for months left you feeling like shit run over, when it was all you got. And if there was one thing Maria didn't need, it was more rage. She had more than enough of it festering inside. What she needed - and deserved - what the opposite of that, which he knew he could give, but strangely couldn't conjure when he was with her.

 

###

 

She had gotten the club eight months after Dix ended up in that chair. It was a reward for many, many things, though she had to pay quite a good part of that “reward”. He had heard about it at work of all places, because why would she tell him? He had discovered her new nickname the same way.

There had been jokes about it, too. “You must feel like a fish out of water”, or “at least if she leaves you there's plenty of fish in the sea”. Those had been the tasteful ones. The others, ironically enough, were about the taste of things.

He had tried not to let him get to him. They were both stingy with information.

He had still asked.

“How is it you get a whole new name and I wasn't told?”

She had smoothed his hair in a rare show of tenderness that left him torn apart.

“Only my friends call me Fish.”

 

###

 

“I need a favor”, she had asked a year and a half after the Dix thing.

“Do you?”

Harvey had been wary of doing favors for Fish, because he had sunk very low but still felt uneasy about working for the mob. It was one thing to turn a blind eye to petty thieves, and not to investigate things that would end up getting someone killed. It was another to commit the crimes yourself.

“It's about a girl I know. She's attempting to leave her boyfriend but he's not getting the message. I want you to escort her and makes sure he's listening.”

“Do I know the girl?”

“No. She's a friend of a friend of a friend, really. But I don't like it when men go and try to crush little girls.”

He had looked at her for a moment, enough to see that she was shaking underneath her collected expression.

“Alright.”

He had met the girl the next evening, as she was walking to work. She was a latina girl of nineteen at most, and her work took place on street corners. As for the boyfriend, the piece of shit who had been her pimp for the previous years, he had showed up half an hour later. He was twice her age and twice her size, and Harvey had lifted him up with one arm without breaking a sweat.

“We're going to have a chat.”

The guy had looked about to piss himself, which he had done a few minutes later in a secluded alley, after that teenage girl he had abused and sold had gone to town on him with a baseball bat. It had felt very good to watch. Harvey had felt sorry to have to stop her.

Then again, he had good reasons.

“Stop going for soft tissue. You keep hitting him in the belly and he's gonna get internal bleeding and die on you. You _don't_ want that”, he had said despite her protests. “You really don't. He isn't worth ending up in Blackgate.”

“I DON'T CARE!”

“Yes, you do. And I'd have to arrest you, and I kinda like you so far.”

The girl had looked bewildered.

“Don't you work for Miss Mooney?”

Harvey had paused, and breathed in.

“If you want a gift that keeps on giving, just go for his kneecaps. I hear people really _miss_ walking.”

He had started to feel good again when the pimp's bone had shattered. The girl, however, had a better heart than Harvey's, because she had stopped at one.

“Let's go”, she had said, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him away. “And thanks for this.”

“No problem.”

“We'll never mention this again.”

“Never.”

“And please thank Miss Mooney for me.”

“Will do, girl. Will do.”

He had left feeling like hell again.

 

###

 

Time passes and it turns out some people can't totally fall out of love. There's always that bit of tenderness left, that _sting_. Then that person you still have feelings for is down on her luck, and needs you, and it is very hard to remember why you left the first time. It's harder after a kiss you couldn't stop yourself from giving, because every good memory is fresher in your mind, and everything bad somehow fades.

Still, Harvey is used to bottling his feelings up.

 

###

 

Vodka was one thing. Wounds and anger were a cancer of their own, and while he had sunk into a bottle, he had watched Fish sink into madness. Oh, it was tame, especially by Gotham's standards. But when she wasn't plotting, she was seething, and when she wasn't seething, she was fantasizing about revenge, and the rest of the time... Harvey didn't know, because he was either passed out drunk or working.

He had known about the punishments her enemies received, and pretended not to, though it had been very hard to ignore the talking of her men. She was, uh, creative. That was the term. He had heard it a lot. And “man, that was brutal”. He had tried not to listen. Vodka helped.

There had been no point talking about it with Fish, because they had _never_ talked about it, barely ever discussed her rise to power, and hell would have broken loose if he had tried to mention Don Falcone.

Criminals devolved, buildings deteriorated, healths declined, relationships degraded and people, like ships, sunk lower and lower.

He could take her fits of rage, or so he had thought, even when it came to blows.

 

###

 

The whole thing ending in the Port was really fitting.

 

###

 

He had sincerely thought he could take the fits of rage, and he had. He had discarded the bruises and the bleeding scratches, and once a split lip, when she had tried to move away from his arms and had punched him in the process. Still, he was much heavier than she was, and if he hugged her long enough, she calmed down and relaxed in his arms.

It was easy to be patient.

He had thought it could take it until he had seen someone else be on the receiving end.

It had been a small-time thug, one of her dealers, maybe. Harvey had never seen the man before, and had arrived a bit too late to hear the initial accusations. The guy had snitched, apparently, and was paying for it.

There was a point where one's will to hurt and humiliate became terrifying. You had girls who punished monsters, and criminals who doled out punishment for traitors. Then you had that specific brand of crazy who just felt _good_ hurting people and would give themselves reasons to do it. If the reasons seemed good enough, sometimes they didn't notice what it was really about.

She had blood on her shoes and that was about it. There had been some splatter on the tables, a lot more on the men who were doing the hurting, and the snitch was sobbing and begging in a puddle of it.

Deep down underwater, the drowned good man in Harvey had stirred.

“WHAT THE HELL, FISH?”

Her men had turned, and so had she, but with that slight, short delay, as she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her victim.

“Get out, take him”, Harvey had snapped to the two thugs. Then, because they didn't move and he had never been shy about owning a gun and using it, he had shot at the ceiling. “GO!”

They had cleared off pretty quickly after that.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?” Fish screamed. “HOW DARE YOU! THIS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!”

“LIKE HELL IT ISN'T. WHAT DO _YOU_ THINK YOU ARE DOING?”

She had opened her mouth to scream some more, but her eyes had landed on the gun, which he was still holding.

Harvey had looked down to it too, just to check that he hadn't pointed it at _her_. That would have said a lot. But, apparently, he had lowered his arm.

He had put the weapon away, and not a second later, Fish had started shouting again.

“Don't _ever_ interfere again! I will punish my men as I see fit! You don't have a say in it. You aren't even _allowed_ to think about it!”

“You're out of your mind if you think I'd let you pull that kind of _batshit insane_ shit! If you ever do something like that again, I swear I'll –”

“You _what?_ ”

“I...”

His anger had vanished to be replaced by raw terror, that itself turned into a bone-deep tiredness. He had no answer to give because, if he had dared threatening Fish, he would have ended up as a suicide at the bottom of the Gotham River. She wouldn't have hesitated for a second. She was that far gone.

He had felt destroyed because people who loved each other were supposed to help each other up, and he hadn't helped at all. Nearly a decade later, he still felt this overwhelming sense of failure, sometimes. Like when he had to drive away from her when she was on the run.

As he had stopped fighting, some of her tension had left her, and her rage had subsided. She had looked at him with not worry, but at least cautious interest, and he had kissed her. He had felt her shiver as understanding dawned.

“I'm done”, he had said. “I can't do this, I'm done, I'm done, I'm done.”

And he had kept repeating it, murmuring it against her shoulder, until he had managed to collect himself and stand up straight. He hadn't looked at her - there was only so much he could take - but he had at least tried to put on a sad smile.

“I'm sorry. This... Is over. I... We can talk in a few days, alright?”

“Harv'...”

By that point, his ears were ringing, and he _had_ to get out of the room. So he did, and didn't contact Fish for six months.

 

###

 

Harvey parked and turned off the car's headlights. He could still see the port, he could still see a moving point that was _maybe_ Fish.

He wasn't one to cry. God knew Fish had dug her grave and could only blame herself for the danger she was in.

Still. That _sting_ never quite passed.

He buried his face in his hands and wept.

 

\---------

 

 


End file.
